Category Archives: Short Stories, Long Odds

Summer Poems: III

When I learned of what you’d said and discovered what you really are, my first thought was revenge. After my mother took you in (when no one else wanted you, and I see why) you threatened to beat her. When she was diagnosed with cancer, you told her she wouldn’t live to see her grandchild.

Summer Poems: II

Look, every child makes a choice on some later, grown-up day to seek glory or not. Okay? For some, the voice is an inescapable ghost, assuring them: they are meant for more, to open up the frightening door, to stand where “branch” becomes “stem” and to make bets on themselves. I don’t mean to say

Song: Folk Song #1

I know that she’s a little older and maybe that’s what made you bolder but now I’m sure your love is colder while you wait on bail I’ll bet she smiled thin, like a wire stooping as she set the fire did you maybe kick the tires before you went to jail We spend our

Essay: Wishing and Burning and Quitting and Starting

Just go to sleep, I think. Nothing left for you tonight but a late start tomorrow. It is 1:26 AM on my mother’s birthday, and it is another night in North Texas with temperatures below freezing. As it is February, that may not seem like remarkable, but it has been a cold new year so

If I Am A Stranger

Come, let us renew ourselves here, with each other. Normally we sit on shelves and deny that we are brothers because there’s no money in it. The best way to know who you are these days, the key is to look to others, so that you can learn a little about you. If I am

Holiday Vignettes 3: IV – Brothers

I was lucky this year to see my brother at Christmas. He’s been in Oregon for years now with his lovely wife Sarah and snow dog Clancy. As we’ve gotten older I have come to think we look less and less alike. I have never felt that we shared much of a physical resemblance: My

No Surprises, or How I Was Almost Arrested While Covering a College Republicans Convention

After a few minutes, during which I’ve started going over my questions, a state trooper throws open the door, hand on the butt of his gun, and asks me in a too-loud voice to explain what I’m doing here.

“I’m the working press,” I say, “and I’m covering this convention.”